


The Champion of Kirkwall

by meyghasa



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meyghasa/pseuds/meyghasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the battle between mages and templars, Hawke finds herself thinking over everything that happened and reaching some unfortunate conclusions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Champion of Kirkwall

Six years. One would think that in six years, one would really get to know somebody. Even better if that somebody lived with you. Ate your meals with you. Fought by your side. Shared your bed.

Of course, there was always Justice, Hawke thought as she refilled her crystal goblet with wine - only the best for the viscount. Justice had lurked, sometimes unseen, sometimes at the forefront. But she knew that those moments when the thoughtful frown broke into a toothy smile, eyebrows finally relaxing, _those_ were Anders and only Anders.

She wondered if the signs had been there all along. Taking a deep drink of wine, she fought back a harsh, cold laugh at the thought of his manifesto. How much of it was to hide his "research"? He was oh so dedicated. Bodahn always commented on it. What a nice lad, when he wasn't doing whatever it was he did so intently. Maker's breath, her manservant had seen more than she had. She had just perpetually laughed it off with another witty quip about Anders' beloved manifesto.

His beloved manifesto about his beloved cause for his beloved. Fucking. Mages.

The shattering of the goblet was momentarily satisfying, but the dark red stain that slowly trickled down the wood paneling reminded her so sharply--

"Mistress? If everything alright?" Orana asked quietly, poking her head in. Upon surveying the scene, the elf servant instinctually dropped to her knees to pick up the larger shards of broken crystal.

The sharpness in Hawke's voice made Orana cringe back towards the open doorway. "Leave it. Go find something else to entertain yourself and leave me be." She didn't want it cleaned up. She didn't want that dark stain expanding on the tile floor to go away. She deserved this. She deserved every reminder.

She choked back a sob, gritting her teeth. "I will not cry for him," she growled. Suddenly she was on her feet, swaying to keep her balance. Papers on her desk - _his_ desk - went flying as she tried to gather them up. They went into the fire, edges curling bright red as they burnt away. "I will not cry for him," she repeated, voice rising until she was shouting. "I will not! Do you hear me? I refuse!"

"I believe everyone from here to Tevinter could hear you," came a voice from the doorway.

Hawke spun around and staggered, overcome by a bitter mixture of grief and too much wine. He was at her side in an instant, sidestepping the broken crystal mess and extending an arm for her to take - or refuse - as she would.

She took it. Mixed memories flitted through her mind of all she had offered him and all that he had refused. One night where he was hers alone, and then gone as if it had never been. Months of silence, absence, and she had handled it with her customary dry remarks. But when Anders came to her, offering her everything she wanted but couldn't have, she had taken it, grabbing tight and not letting go. Time solidified the beginnings of affection into love. So much was ignored - Justice's sudden outbursts of rage, the endless preaching on mage rights, the manifesto. She even got him a damn cat, sequestering Pup and sneezing for a week straight before Anders reluctantly agreed that it was a sweet but impossible gesture.

"I even had a secret passage built," she hiccuped, continuing a mental dialogue she didn't realize she was having. "So he could escape easily when the templars came. Home. He could come home."

Fenris said nothing. He stood, retrieved a new goblet for each of them, and filled them to the top.

"You really are an idiot," Anders had said.

"And you were quick enough to take my place," had been Fenris' response. It had stung then, but she had pretended not to hear it.

And now here he was, and the man who had sworn his love to her was… was…

"Fenris," she said, her voice cracking. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "Do you… do you remember…" She trailed off, unable to force the words past the lump in her throat. Even the wine wasn't helping, no matter how much she poured down her gullet.

"Anything I could say would be insufficient," he said, looking down into the glass he cradled in both hands. "But I am sorry."

She drank again, and swallowed. She couldn't bring herself to look anywhere but the fireplace where the charred remains of that thrice-damned manifesto lay. "'Hurt her and I will kill you myself,' you said. But in the end, I--" Drink, swallow. "I did it myself. Like. Like the champion should."

Her near-hysterical laughter erupted past a smile that was stretched too tight. And then she was on the floor, crying and crying and crying and asking _why_ , why would he kill so many people, why didn't he tell her, why did he use her to distract the Grand Cleric, why did he lie about the potion, why why why why _why_ …

His arms were around her, the metal of his armor pressing into her back and sides. Her tears spilled over flushed cheeks, running in little rivulets between the small spikes of his cauldrons. The sobs escaped her throat with harsh, guttural sounds that left her raw and aching.

"I should have known," she sobbed. "I should have expected. Asked more questions. Read his bloody manifesto…"

"No." Fenris' voice was like steel, cutting through her half-hysterical rambling in a tone that brooked no argument. "You did what was necessary. You saw yourself what magic does. How it corrupts. Even the First Enchanter was not immune." He moved from behind her, kneeling before her with his hands on each of her shoulders. When she wouldn't look at him, he took her chin in his hand and made her. "You did what was necessary," he repeated, stern.

Hawke stared at him, silent, her tears trickling as she slowly pulled herself together. "Magic ruined everything." Her voice was numb, resigned, an echo of the kernel of hate solidifying in her heart. "Father. Bethany. Mother. This whole blighted city. And An… An…" She couldn't bring herself to say his name, even now.

But holding her, crouched there on the floor beside her, Fenris knew. And he understood.


End file.
